


doctor's orders

by elizajane



Category: Lost Girl (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Healing Sex, Hospital Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane
Summary: “We need you.” Lauren's voice is taut with fear. “I can't -- not enough to help her fully heal.”Dyson is already on his feet. “Where are you?”“Hospital.” Lauren says.“I'll be there in ten.” [This drabblewouldn't let me go, so here's an expanded scene.]





	doctor's orders

**Author's Note:**

> Content Note: Somewhat compelled-by-magic sex in the context of a consensual established relationship.

**I.**

“We need you.” Lauren's voice is taut with fear. “I can't -- not enough to help her fully heal.”

Dyson is already on his feet. “Where are you?”

“Hospital.” Lauren says.

“I'll be there in ten.”

He makes it in fifteen. Lauren is at Bo's back, skin to skin, and Dyson can smell the blood.

“Only hers,” Lauren says. He nods, stripping off his jacket, shirt, jeans as he crosses the room. Bo struggles weakly for him.

“He's here babe, he's--” Lauren catches his hand as he reaches the bed, squeezing in wordless relief.

“I'm here,” Dyson sinks into their arms.

* * *

**II.**

The drive from the precinct to the hospital where Lauren has admitting privileges is a straight shot but school is getting out and the traffic is crawling. Dyson grips the wheel and concentrates on not shifting. Wolf thinks they should abandon the car and run. But it's broad daylight and the last thing he can afford right now is being collared by animal control.

When Dyson arrives at the hospital, Kenzi is standing just inside the sliding glass doors of the main entrance, phone pressed to her ear. She doesn’t look at all surprised when he appears in her field of vision. He can hear Tamsin on the other side of the connection. Kenzi’s composed but with damp cheeks that betray recent tears and a smear of dirt across her forehead. Her hair is a mess, pulled hastily back from her face with some sort of clip. There's rough tear in her shirt and blood on the knees of her jeans. He can smell the sour scent of worry and the grime of sewers all around her.

 _Fucking_ kelpies. He bites back a snarl.

“I’m fine. Lauren's here. Bo's -- it’s gonna be fine.” Kenzi says -- speaking to him and Tamsin both, Dyson thinks, as she lowers the phone but doesn’t end the call. She smacks her tiny, pale hand on his chest, moving backwards with him as he crosses the vast reception area toward the main entrance to the hospital proper. “Lauren said --”

“Lauren called me,” Dyson says, resisting the urge to run. “Where are they?”

“Third floor, turn left, then right, room three-eighteen.” She says, pointing. “Stairs over there.” He course-corrects.

“Lock the door this time!” she calls after him as he rounds the corner to the elevator. “I don’t need to walk in on an orgy again!”

He’s already pushing through the doors to the stairwell and taking the first flight two at a time. He knows how bad it has to be for Lauren to sound that upset in a hospital. He passes the second floor landing with and exits at the third without passing another person, turning left and then right at the first branching hallway. Rooms 322, 320, 318 on his left; with a twist of he knob he’s in.

It’s a hospital room; he’s been in hundreds. They always stink of harsh chemicals, sickness, fear. He takes everything in with a glance, already shrugging out of his jacket and yanking his belt out of the buckle. The floor is linoleum, everything in shades of beige under institutional fluorescent lighting. There’s an IV drip and a bank of equipment by the hospital bed, though it’s all been pushed back out of the way. This human hospital didn’t have any of Lauren’s specialized equipment, which must mean this was the closer destination and Kenzi hadn’t dared the longer drive.

He kicks out of his jeans and starts unbuttoning his shirt, closing the distance between the door and the bed. Over the scent of _hospital_ is the scent of Bo’s magic, of recent orgasms, fainter than it should be. Clothing he recognizes from their shared closet at home is scattered across the floor and he adds to it as he moves. He turns his focus to the two women on the bed, both naked, Lauren holding Bo to her chest, back to front, the way she often sleeps against Dyson. They’re both smeared with blood and Dyson can see one long gash across Bo’s torso, from the bottom of her ribcage to her groin, covered with bandages yet still bleeding through. Another half inch and the kelpie’s claws would have opened her femoral artery. He can taste his own fear, now, no less strong for the number of times they’ve had brushes with death.

As he draws closer, Bo opens her eyes and they’re orbs of blue. She heaves in a painful-sounding breath, clearly trying to drink him in even from a distance, and scrabbles weakly against the stabilizing arm Lauren has locked against her chest.

“He’s here, babe,” Lauren murmurs tight against her cheek, eyes tracking Dyson as he closes the last few feet between them. “Dyson’s here.” She reaches out with her free hand as if to pull him in faster.

“I’m here,” Dyson echoes, naked now and crawling up onto the narrow hospital bed that creaks in response to the unaccustomed weight. He doesn’t have much room to lay down that isn’t on top of Bo, but knows from past experience that this won’t matter. Before his body meets the mattress, Bo has him to his back, has plastered herself on top of him, her skin sickly cold and feverishly hot in turn as she pins him to the bed and seals her mouth against his. This is never his favorite way of doing things, but knowing that it’s what Bo needs to heal, to stay with them, helps him block out all of the fear and stress that’s telling his body this isn’t the time.The more he can lose himself to the pleasure of sex the faster Bo will heal.

“Bo, honey, be --” Lauren tries, and on the periphery of his awareness Dyson feels her body move against them, shifting to help steady Bo’s hips where she straddles him, hands smoothing over the bandages. Dyson's mouth is occupied with their desperate succubus but he manages to slap a hand to Lauren's wrist and squeeze in what he hopes is wordless reassurance. Lauren will be drained from the earlier healing; she shouldn’t be so close when Bo is this uncontrolled, not now that he's here and things are about to get rough. But he has no way to say this verbally; Bo has her teeth in his lower lip.  So he tries to convey _get back_ through his fingers even if that's not what he wants. Her post-orgasmic scent, stronger now he’s on the bed, is helping Wolf stay focused on feeling good. Bo's fingernails scrape against his shoulders. She's sitting right over his groin and distantly -- through all of the panicked noise in his brain -- he can feel his body start to respond.

He shifts his grip, splaying fingers over the wound dressings, trying to gauge depth and length. Back as well as front. Christ, had the kelpie gone all the way through? Had vital organs been damaged, or were they only dealing with massive blood loss? He presses his palms to the wounds as if he can shape her back together like clay.

“Stop. Thinking.” Bo commands, with the authority of magic. She digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulders, hard, and drags a deep breath up out of his lungs. He feels the twist as she pulls energy from him: pain soaked in pleasure, the power of an succubus to turn a theft into a willingly-surrendered gift. He bites her lower lip, hard, just to remind them both he’s here of his own volition.

Bo growls against his mouth, reaching between them now to palm his growing erection. He feels his muscles contract as she squeezes, another twist and yank of energy from deep in his core. He whines, Wolf whines, at the bruising ache that comes as his dick pulses swells to sudden fullness in her hand. She’ll be sliding onto him now, everything slick heat, and he feels her magic take hold. Blotting out the world around them, even the hospital room, until the only reality was the three of them on this impossibly narrow bed made possible because there’s an succubus in the room. Because there’s a succubus -- _their_ succubus -- lifting herself up and open so that she can sink down around him.

Lauren -- who hasn't heeded his warning in the least, damn her -- slides, still naked, over his knees to support Bo from behind. Bo’s hands leave Dyson’s chest and she reaches over her shoulders to dig her fingers into Lauren’s already-disheveled hair. She cranes her neck for a kiss -- one with no hint of magic -- and Lauren gives it to her, then moves her lips in a trailing path down Bo's bare throat to the join of her shoulder. Dyson has traced that same path with his own lips, many times. He can taste her skin on his tongue and feel the pulse of her accelerated heartbeat against his lips. He slides his hands up Bo’s thighs to her hips and lets his palms open against flesh, thumbs fitted just there at the crease. Lauren’s hands smooth around Bo's waist to cover his, holding him there. Bo drops her head back against Lauren’s shoulder, eyes closed. Now that she has him seated inside her, heat and slick and clenching muscles all around him, he can feel the steady pull of her feeding with every shudder. He’ll be lucky if he can walk out of this room before sleep overtakes him. But he doesn’t fight it. He knows Lauren and Bo will see him home safe and into their bed for the night.

He’s close. He can feel Bo holding him back, holding the orgasm at bay, until she’s drunk her fill. It’s itchy, restless pleasure coursing beneath his skin, knowing she has the power to make him wait. He hauls in a new breath and opens his eyes -- unaware, until that moment, that he’d closed them. Lauren is watching him, over Bo’s shoulder, face flushed, eyes tired but focused. On him. The intensity of her regard in these moments still flays him open, the way she’s watching him come like he’s a scientific discovery that might win her the Nobel prize if only she can puzzle put the riddle of him.

As he watches, she drags her hands up Bo’s sides to peel back the dressing across her belly. The wounds are only angry pink scars now, visibly diminishing. Dropping the tape and gauze over the side of the bed, Lauren returns her hands to smooth up over the scars to cradle Bo’s breasts, thumb and forefingers teasing at Bo’s already tight nipples. Dyson digs his fingers into Bo’s hips as her body spasms around him in response to Lauren’s touch. He’s pinned to the bed but his hips still lift up off the mattress, seeking _more_ , and _deeper_.

“Bo, sweetheart,” Lauren tips her head to press her lips to Bo’s ear. “You’ve taken all the chi you need. Let him come for us.”

The orgasm that rips through him is beyond physical sensation, a release that leaves him aching and exhausted with a dehydration headache pulsing behind his right eye. It isn’t usually this bad, and the pain reminds him how close they came to losing her. He must actually black out briefly because the next sensation he’s aware of is the cold swipe of disinfectant at the inside of his elbow and the brief, sharp prick of an expertly-placed IV line. He inhales cautiously, since opening his eyes is a nausea-inducing proposition. There are no new scents in the room so it must be Lauren at his arm since Bo’s weight and warmth is curled protectively over him, her head tucked into his shoulder. He thinks he might even still be inside her, though the edges of his body are a bit fuzzy through the haze of his head pain.

“The electrolytes should help you feel better,” Lauren is saying. “As soon as I clean up Bo’s medical record and discharge her we can get you both home.”

He takes a careful breath. Then another. When his stomach doesn’t rebel he risks cracking one eye. Lauren is standing by the edge of the bed, dressed and freshly scrubbed of blood and other bodily fluids. He takes another breath and then closes his eyes again, hoping that she’ll interpret that as assent. He trusts her to take care of all the necessary details. He feels Lauren’s hand, a brief clasp of his wrist, then the shift of air as she runs her palm down Bo’s spine, from nape to tailbone, before stepping away from the bed.

“Sorry,” Bo mumbles against his chin. He brushes sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead as Lauren slips out the door. Her voice sounds nearly as tired as he feels, empty now of the power to compel. Dyson still doesn’t have words but he risks turning his head just enough to press a kiss against her forehead. He wishes, as he always does, that he could say _Don’t take these risks. You aren’t indestructible._ But he knows this is who she is, who they are. He can’t ask her to stop trying to heal the world in her own, courageous, obstinate way. It would be like asking Lauren to give up her lab, her research. Like asking him to quit throwing his body between harm and the people he loves.

“Love you,” he says, instead, the barest whisper, before drifting back off to sleep with Bo to keep him warm.


End file.
